


Brief Hours

by idlesuperstar



Series: The Life And Death Of Sugar Candy [13]
Category: The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp (1943)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-30
Updated: 2013-07-30
Packaged: 2017-12-21 21:38:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/905236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idlesuperstar/pseuds/idlesuperstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clive was holding tight to Theo’s arm, and God, the feel of it! The warmth and strength, the familiarity, as if no time had passed at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brief Hours

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place the evening of Clive's Bachelor dinner, a few weeks after _A Cheap Cigarette_. 
> 
> There is one tiny bit of handwaving in this - the cab that Clive and Theo get is a horse-drawn one, whereas in the film it is a car. It's historically feasible, at least, and it means that they have privacy and can talk freely. I'm sure Emeric wouldn't mind.
> 
> Series notes [here](http://archiveofourown.org/series/36980)

Clive’s heart was singing. All the way to Victoria Theo’s voice had echoed in his head: _all right, all right, I won’t run away._ And now here he was! Impossible to credit, after that awful day at Hardleigh. Here he was, close, so close, and real, and - God be praised - smiling back at Clive. Already the memory of his cold face, his turning away, was fading. Now they were pressed gloriously close, here, in the dark of the cab. Clive had been a touch embarrassed, at first, that they’d had to settle for a horse-drawn cab, as if the War had plunged them back into the dark ages, but now he was glad of it. Glad of the cosy little world for just the two of them, and no driver eavesdropping. 

“You Prussian stiff-neck! The only way is to kidnap you!” Clive was holding tight to Theo’s arm, and God, the feel of it! The warmth and strength, the familiarity, as if no time had passed at all. “Now, let’s have a look at you.” He tilted Theo’s cap back, and yes, there it was! Christ. The sight of it. “You’ve still got my mark on you, I see.” He hadn’t taken it in, that day. No, no, he would not think of that. It was done now. All forgotten. Theo was _here_. Clive touched the scar, a low thrill running through him at the feel of it, of his mark on Theo’s skin, marvelling that he _could_ , that Theo’s forehead was warm and _real_ under his touch. 

“And you still need a moustache!” laughed Theo, pointing back. Oh, what a lovely sight, his dear face, creased in a laugh. He could feel the warmth of Theo all along his side, could feel Theo relaxing under his hands. Oh! how right it felt. Even after everything. Even with the smell of English cigarettes. 

“When were you captured?” he asked, though he was only half-aware of his question, overwhelmed by Theo’s strong arm through his, Theo’s bright eyes. 

“July ’16.”

“You were lucky. You missed the worst of it.” 

“I would prefer to have been unlucky.”

“That’s what you think.” No, Theo had been better off out of it. He had been safe. Clive had never feared for his own safety, but if anything had happened to Theo - no, best not think of it. He was woolgathering. What should a friend ask? “Have you heard from home? Have you any children? How is Edith?” And suddenly he really wanted to know everything, as the questions spilled out of him. 

“Which shall I answer first? Edith is all right, as far as I can tell.” Theo reached into his tunic and pulled out some photographs. Clive took them, and there was Edith’s face looking back at him. He quashed the pang of envy that flared up. He had no right to feel that way. It was how it must be. Of course Theo would carry a photograph of his wife. What had he expected? That his own photograph would be among them? That Theo would say with a teasing smile _and_ _here Clive, here is my most precious picture?_ What foolishness. It was enough that Theo had telephoned, that he was here. Clive gathered his scattered thoughts. 

“Boys, eh? Now that one’s exactly like Edith.”

“Karl? Yes he is, isn’t he? I almost wish we had no children. What future can children have in a beaten country?”

Now that did not sound like the Theo he knew, that defeatist talk. He was tired, to be sure. He needed a few wise words and he’d be alright. 

“Oh, you Germans are all a bit crazy. You wait til you meet Barbara. She’ll tell you what’s what.” If anyone could, she could.

“Who’s Barbara?” Theo asked, almost confused.

“My wife. Oh, of course, you don’t know I’m married.” Damn, he had meant to be less blunt. He’d not wanted Theo to be hurt by it. He risked a glance at Theo, but his face gave nothing away.  “You’ll get a bit of a shock when you see her.” He smiled, imagining it. 

“Shock? I am sure she is charming.” Theo looked politely confused, but his arm was tense under Clive’s. Was he - was he jealous? Clive felt a shameful thrill at that. Perhaps - but no. Theo was happy with Edith. He must think of that.  It was what they had agreed. This was enough. Just to have him close. Safe. 

“I don’t mean that” Clive laughed. “You wait and see. Oh - of course, you won’t see her. She’s gone to the theatre with her mother. Never mind.” He paused, musing. Shame, really, that they wouldn’t meet. But perhaps it was for the best. Barbara had been a near - saint, but there was no need to flaunt Theo in her face, however - _chastely_. And Theo? He might not take it so well. He was very quiet. 

“Do you not carry her photograph, Clive?” Theo asked, his voice uncommonly steady. Oh! Clive felt the flush creeping up his neck. Could he tell Theo that the only photograph in his wallet was his, after all this time? 

“Clive?” Theo prompted, and Clive realised he’d been lost in thought.

“What, oh no - no I don’t have one.” He looked at Theo, trying to gauge his reaction. “She’s having a portrait done, soon, though.” He smiled, thinking of it. Theo said nothing, bent his head; he seemed to be studying Clive’s hand where it was clasped round his arm.  

“Clive? May I ask?” Theo said, quietly, after some moments. Too quietly, for him.

“You can ask me anything, old man, you know that,” Clive replied warmly, gazing at Theo’s face, squeezing his arm. Theo looked up, smiled; a small smile, fond, even though he was still tense under Clive’s hand.

“You and Barbara. You -” he paused, “ - you do not have children?” Ah! Well, that explained the hesitance. There were multitudes in that question. 

“She doesn’t want them, old thing.” Clive said, matter-of-factly. “Quite modern, you know. Quite happy without.”  Clive ducked his head, remembering that late-night conversation, remembering Barbara’s gentle understanding. 

“And you? Do you not want children?” 

“Theo - ” he looked back up, eyeing him fondly. “I haven’t changed, old man. I knew I should never have children. I was - I know I was young back then” he blushed, stupidly, unable to look away from Theo’s fond eyes, oh his fond eyes! “but I knew what I felt, what I was. I’ve - I’ve not changed.” Was that too much to admit? Here in this little cab it seemed the world had fallen away, but Theo had changed, he knew. He had had to face it, after that horrible day in Derbyshire. Theo might have changed in other ways too. He was married, now. He had children. That - that must mean something to him. The things they had sworn - Theo had been living a different life.  

“Clive - ” and Theo was looking at him seriously, all the laughter from earlier fallen away “you seem happy? Are you? With Barbara?”

“She knows, you know.” Clive blurted out. Theo’s face froze, and suddenly Clive was laughing freely, clutching Theo’s arm as Theo looked at him as if he were mad.

“I do not understand, Clive.”

“Honestly, old man, it’s not that difficult.” He composed himself, and patted Theo’s hand. “She’s one in a million, you know.” He paused, calming himself. How best to say it? “We talked it all through, before I asked her to marry me. We’d become close, you know, and - well - she has a kind of insight, I suppose. So we had a long talk one night, about all sorts of things, and I knew that she would be kind, at the very least.” He broke off, remembering. “I  - I never said anything about you” he said, boldly, blushing again, “but I told her my nature. That I could not be a husband to her in that way. But that I couldn’t marry her without telling her.”

“And she did not mind?” Theo sounded incredulous. 

“She is - ” Clive paused, almost angry for a moment, at Theo’s tone. “She is - I am very lucky, Theo, I know that,” he said, firmly, “but if you were to be so rude as to ask Barbara, she would say the same. Now I won’t say any more than that, it wouldn’t be proper.” Clive was aware he sounded a little pompous, but Barbara’s feelings were hers alone, however much he wanted to tell Theo. 

“Forgive me, my friend,” Theo said, sounding chastened. “I was just - surprised. Such acceptance is - rare.” He fell silent again, musing. Clive, feeling brave, dared to cover Theo’s hand with his own. For a moment they sat silent, the movement of the cab pressing them close, and then Theo turned his hand, curled his fingers round Clive’s. Oh! Clive felt almost dizzy with it.This closeness! There was something dreadfully intimate about holding another’s hand. Oh, he had dreamed of it. Perhaps - perhaps Theo still felt something for him, something more than friendship. His heart kicked, and hope made him reckless.

“Does Edith - did you ever tell her about yourself? About - about that side of your nature?” Had he stepped too far? Surely not. They had been candid before. Theo’s hand tightened on his momentarily and then relaxed.

“No, no she is not like your Barbara” and oh, he sounded almost bitter. It could not be jealousy, surely? “No, she would not understand.” Theo continued. “And - well, it would hurt her, terribly. And I do not wish to hurt her.”

“Would it?”

“Well, yes. If she knew, then - ” Theo raised his eyes from their joined hands and looked at Clive, his eyes dark and fond, “- then she could not fail to realise that - that I was in love with you, back in Berlin.” 

Oh, _God_. Clive’s heart jumped at that. He could barely breathe. He’d known, of course he had known. But to _hear_ it, again. To hear Theo say it aloud. But - that was then. Another country. Another time. 

“Back in Berlin?” he asked, barely daring to hope. What was true then might not be now. But, oh, his treacherous heart was thumping unsteadily. 

“Clive, you knew it then. I - you have not forgotten? You know what we swore?” Theo said, his hand tightening on Clive’s. 

“Of _course_ I know. How could I ever forget it?” he said, almost hurt that Theo would think that. “But - ” and he frowned, thinking suddenly of Theo’s cold face at the camp “ - but things change. I know that now. _People_ change” and he could not keep the sadness completely out of his voice. “It’s - ” and oh, what had he to lose? The truth was always best “ - it’s as true now for me as it was then.”

“It is?” Clive could not tell from Theo’s voice or face what he was thinking. 

“I - even if you have changed - ” God, he would say it “ - well, I haven’t.”

“Clive, England could fall down around your ears and you would not change.” And Theo’s voice was warm, but Clive could not bear the teasing, not now. 

“I - I know you must think me a fool.” He looked down, self-conscious, and there were their hands, still linked. It gave him courage. “I don’t care. I shall always feel so. I know that. Freunde für immer.” 

“Clive - ” and Theo let go of his hand. Clive felt bereft, his hand suddenly cold. Had he said too much? But Theo’s fingers were gentle under his chin, tilting his face up. Theo’s eyes on him, grey and soft in the darkness of the cab. “Clive, if you are a fool, then so am I.”   

Oh, his _heart_. It would surely burst. He took Theo’s hand again, held it warm between his own two. 

“Clive,” Theo said, his voice almost rough, “I know we were young idiots then - yes, both of us. And - well - we could barely understand each other - ” 

“That’s not true, Theo, we always managed - ”

“Shush, Clive, I am trying to tell you - ”

“Sorry.” 

“I know I hurt you terribly, that day with Edith.”

“It’s alright, old man - ”

“Clive, please! I will never manage it if you do not be quiet. I tried so many times to write it, to apologise. But I could not find the words, I could not - our postcards, Clive, I could not somehow write such things. And I could not ask Edith for help, of course. You - I always knew you understood why - ” Clive nodded silent agreement “ - but it was too soon. Too soon for us both. But you had your train. And it had to be. It was such a mess. And - ” he looked away, out of the cab window, eyes wet. 

“Theo.” Clive stroked Theo’s hand, gently. “It’s alright. It always has been. It never changed my feelings. It was just - yes, bad timing. I only wish we’d had more time.” Oh, didn’t he. Another few hours, another day. Another _night_. He flushed at the thought. God, another glorious night like their last. 

“Ach, yes. Never enough time, with you. Brief hours, only.” Theo turned back to him, smiling sadly. 

“Like now. I’m sorry.”

“Oh - ” Theo sighed. “Clive, I did not mean to say all this. It is not the time. I am - I am not a kind man to be around at the present. You know. The camp - ” he broke off, face clouded. 

“That’s all done with now. Forgotten.” Clive smiled at him, willing him to believe it. It was true, it really was. “These few minutes we have here, it is just us, as it always was. That is enough.”

“You know, Clive, for an Englishman you are quite the romantic at times,” Theo said, amused.

“Your influence, no doubt. Can’t understand it otherwise.” He realised he was gazing fondly at Theo’s face, but could not bring himself to care. He would look his fill! And oh, to be here, with Theo looking back at him, equally fondly. For Theo to still feel the same! Another moment to keep in his secret heart. Theo turned his hand again, intertwined their fingers again. Oh the strong clasp of his hand! 

“Clive - ” and he sounded hesitant again. “Would you - I understand if - after all we are both married men - but - ” and dear _God_   Clive would die of vexation if he did not finish that sentence. 

“Spit it out, man,” he said, hotly.

“Would you - would you kiss me? Just once. Just for us.”  

God, would he! He hadn’t dared hope. And it was not a betrayal, was it? Just one kiss. And they had pledged themselves to each other before any wedding vows had been spoken. He realised that Theo was looking at him, waiting for a reply, still hesitant. Dear Theo. None of that! 

Clive leaned forward, closing what little gap there was between them, and kissed him fiercely. Theo’s lovely mouth on his, oh the years fell away! His hand in Theo’s glorious thick hair, knocking his cap off, unconcerned. Theo, just as strong and warm and sure as he ever was, kissing him back with equal fierceness. God, the shape of his skull under Clive’s fingers, the ridge of the scar under his thumb, the lovely soft heat of his mouth, the brush of his moustache! Clive felt the arousal singing through his blood, felt the awkward pull of his shoulder as he twisted round to get more of Theo, felt the answering strength of Theo holding him; Theo’s hand at his neck, on his arm, burrowing under his coat. It was every moment of closeness they’d had, every lonely dream, every secretly-cherished memory; yet it was real. Christ, it was _real_. Clive broke the kiss, gasping, overwhelmed. Theo’s hand, stroking his face; Theo’s eyes, dark and shining; Theo’s mouth, on his again. Gentle, soft, _tender._

“Clive - ” Theo murmured into his mouth, between soft kisses, and oh, the sound of him! “ - oh, Clive.” His voice was rough and unsteady, but he sounded so happy. Just as Clive felt. Theo drew his hand out from under Clive’s coat, rested his palm over Clive’s thundering heart. “Clive - ” still kissing him, as if unable to stop “you know - what I am to say.” Oh, Clive’s heart kicked again at that, as he kissed Theo again; Theo would surely feel it. He moved his own hand to mirror Theo’s.

“Say it” he murmured, kissing Theo again. “I know it, but I want to hear it.”

“Mein Herz, Clive,” Theo murmured back, between kisses, hand firm on Clive’s chest. “My heart. It is yours,” and oh, Clive could weep for the joy of it, for the love that was brimming over, spilling out in kisses. 

“And mine is yours” he whispered, pressing his hand more firmly to Theo’s chest, feeling the kick of that dear heart, seeing the joy on Theo’s face, the glorious smile, kissing him through his own happiness. Suddenly, the cab lurched, and Clive was jolted back into awareness of where they were. 

“Cardigan Place, guv!” came the cry from outside. Dear _God,_ how they had forgotten themselves! This would not have happened in a car! He flushed, happy, thankful beyond belief for the scarcity of petrol. He looked at Theo. What a sight! But they must recover themselves quickly. 

“Alright, old thing?” he asked, ruefully. “You, er, you look a little flushed,” he could not help but grin. God, the sight of him, with his hair a wreck. It made Clive want to plunder him. He must control himself. 

“You look the same, mein Freund! Lieber Gott! I am not sure that was a good idea of mine.”

Clive’s stomach lurched at that. He was surely not regretting it?

“No, Clive, you idiot. I mean - ” as he smoothed his hair down and retrieved his cap from the floor “that I did not want to _stop_.” A heated look at Clive. “And now you are going to push me into a room full of people and make me talk to them and all I will be thinking of is _this_ ” he gestured between them. Oh! Yes, well, Clive knew exactly what he meant. He straightened his own clothing, and did his best to tidy his hair. 

“Yes, _yes_.” Opening the cab door and climbing out. “Yes, I know what you mean. Here you go, driver, keep the change.” He could not help but hold a hand out to Theo to help him out of the cab. 

“I am not a girl, Clive.”

“Don’t I know it!” and Theo was not the only one who could shoot a heated look. Theo flushed, but took his hand and stepped out. 

“You - you are _not_ helping.” he gritted out. 

“I’m sorry, old man” Clive laughed. “No - ” and he took a deep breath to compose himself. “No, you are right. We must be presentable. Let me look at you.” And he steered Theo under the porch light. If this was his last chance to look his fill, he would make the most of it. It was not necessary. Theo, miraculously, looked neat as a pin. 

“No-one would think anything amiss, Theo. It must be something in the German character. You are spotless.”

“I do not feel spotless. I feel as if it were written all over my face.” He looked at Clive, straightening his bow tie for him. “There, you look perfect too.”   

“It _is_ written all over your face,” Clive said, softly. “When I look at you, I can see it. I can hardly believe it, but I can see it, so it must, somehow, be true.  But - ” at Theo’s worried look “ - only someone who knew you as I do would be able to tell.”  

“Clive, I will not say this again. It is true. As I can see it in your face, when you look at me. We know it. Freunde für immer, ja? Just us. Only we two.” Theo looked so fondly at him that Clive thought his body would not contain all his feelings. 

“Ja, Theo.” he said “Freunde für immer. Always.” He brushed a hand across Theo’s tunic, over his heart, one last touch. Then, shaking himself. “Now, we can’t put it off any longer. Murdoch will be after us in a minute, and we don’t want his chiding.” He unlocked the door, and sure enough, there was Murdoch, like a faithful hound, ready to take their coats. Clive smiled one last time at Theo, took a deep breath, and pushed open the dining room door. 

  

 

**Author's Note:**

> In a can-you-ever-be-too-meta? move, this fic was mainly written in front of the fire in the lounge of the Western Isles Hotel, in Tobermory, which is where, as all good Archers fans know, Joan and Torquil stay in _I Know Where I'm Going!_ Thanks and a gift of Torquil-in-a-kilt to **jennytheshipper** for not just the beta but the ridiculous transatlantic discussions and giddiness.
> 
> I always want to thank Roger and Anton for their faces wait I mean _acting_ , but this scene in particular is a thing of glory, and a gift for the happy slasher.
> 
> Title from sonnet 116, once again.


End file.
